Not Quite Forgotten
by Lionna
Summary: As an art student, Ib really admired Weiss Guertena's work. But seeing them in real life, instead of in textbooks, inspires an entirely different feeling. The past repeats itself, but is Ib more prepared this time?


Disclaimer: Don't own.

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_**Chapter One  
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"Ib! Are you ready to go?" Mother called up the stairs, and the teenaged girl glanced one last time at her sketchbook before closing it.

She tucked it into the portfolio bag she carried everywhere, along with several different utensils and the two main things she had gotten from her parents for her birthday. She did not know why she felt the need to bring those but... She trusted her instincts. Besides, it was better to have them and not need them, than to need them and not have them.

Tucking the odd fake rose she had owned for as long as she could remember behind her ear, she finally felt ready to leave.

Closing the door behind her, Ib ran her fingers softly over the petals of the rose. She had gotten it somehow years ago, and though it neither looked nor felt fake, there was no other explanation for it. It had not wilted at all in the time she had owned it. She had no clue as to why she always felt the need to keep it close and protect it, but, like with her presents, she knew not to question it.

Climbing into the back seat of the car, behind her parents, she smiled slightly at her mother, who was grinning at her from the passenger seat. She had never been especially close to her parents, both of them very busy with work while she was naturally introverted, but she loved them for trying to connect with her.

This trip was one of those attempts.

Today they were taking her to the local art gallery to see an exhibition of her favorite artist, the slightly obscure Weiss Guertena. Apparently they had taken her to see his works once before, when she was a child, but she didn't remember it.

Taking out her sketchbook while father started the car, Ib began drawing senselessly with a stick of charcoal. She thought that her hand knew what she wanted to draw better than her brain did.

Soon, the lines began taking a recognizable shape, and she frowned at the picture that was still forming. It was of a man, tall, with a long ratty coat and an easy smile. It was actually one of the more common pictures she had drawn. The man, who she could swear she had never seen before, was always wearing the same thing in her pictures, and always looked wistful.

For some reason, drawing him always made Ib feel bitter sweet.

"Oh, him again?" Mother's voice startled her, and the young woman jumped slightly and looked up from her sketchbook, which her mother was also looking at. "Are you sure you don't know him, Ib? Could he have gone to your school, or visited?"

Ib shook her head, biting back a sigh. They had this conversation repeatedly, mother or father always prying, trying to figure out where she could have seen this man. But she was just as clueless as they were.

Mother seemed ready to say something else, but father interrupted, exclaiming that they had arrived.

The museum was old, and had a slightly spooky feel to it as they looked at the old building, and Ib shivered slightly.

For some reason, she did not want to go in. Her instincts were clamoring alarms in her ears. She did not like to ignore them.

She was about to ask if they could possibly put the trip off indefinitely, but her mother and father had already gotten out of the car, and were nearly at the door. Sighing, Ib slipped her sketchbook back into its bag, and climbed out or the car. Nothing for it, then.

Walking up to the door, the teen couldn't shake off her sense of foreboding, and she pulled her jacket tighter around herself. She was sure it had been sunny only moments ago, but now the sky was overcast.

Steeling herslef, Ib pushed open the door her parents had already entered, and stepped into the building. As opposed to the outside, the inside was cheerily lit, and people milled about talking quietly.

"How nice." Mother said, looking around.

"Ib, why don't you go check out the upstairs. Mom and I want to talk to the curator a bit. We'll meet up with you." Father said with a smile. Ib bit her lip, then nodded.

If anything happened, she had plan b in her bag.

Climbing up the stairs, Ib experienced a distinct feeling of deja-vu. She knew from her parents that they had been here before, but that did not explain the unease that coursed through her.

When she got to the top, she took a deep breath and walked up to the painting hanging right in front of her. She felt herself relax a bit as the faint smell of turpentine reached her. The painting she was looking at was one she had seen in art textbooks. It was actually one of her favorites. The Lady in Red, she had heard, was based on various women who had chased after Guertena. The woman in the painting gave off an aura of haughtiness, from her stance and the slight sneer on her lips.

The teen walked on to the next painting, relaxing into her environment. The sense of unease was pushed to the back as Ib appreciated the work of her favorite artist. Guertena had really poured his soul into his paintings and sculptures, and the aspiring artist could tell. She moved along the wall, losing herself in the paintings.

Until she came upon a familiar face.

Ib gasped and stepped back slightly, getting odd looks from the people around her. But she couldn't help it. Right in front of her was the man she had been drawing for years. He appeared to be asleep, and in his hands he was clasping a rose, much like the one in her hair, only blue.

She was suddenly made aware of how wet her face felt, and she gingerly touched it, looking in confusion at the water that clung to her fingers. Why was she crying?

Shaking her head, she reluctantly moved off.

"I guess this is where I saw him..." She muttered softly to herself, absently patting her bag. She used her old handkerchief to wipe her face.

She found it impossible after that to immerse herself once again in the paintings. The feeling of discomfort that she had been ignoring was growing exponentially as she moved towards the back.

She held her bag tighter as she got to what had to be the biggest piece in gallery and one she had never heard of, even in her research. "Fabricated World. Once you go in, there is no going back. All your time here will be lost. Will you still jump in?" She read out loud. She looked up at the light fixtures with a frown as they flickered, then shut off. The back up lights that came on were barely enough to see by and gave the who museum an eerie glow.

Looking back at the picture, she jumped back when she saw the words stamped across the wall under the painting. 'Welcome back, Ib.'

She looked rapidly from side to side, but no one was around, and she would have heard someone get close enough to do that while she was looking up. When her gaze was drawn back to the words, she saw they had changed. 'Why don't you come downstairs? We can get reacquainted.'

Ib slipped her hand into her bag, wrapping it around one of her presents, and cautiously walked back the way she came, deciding one and for all that it was time to tell her parents that it was time to go.

She pulled out her present, revealing it to be a new Ruger Lc9, when she realized that no one that had been on this floor of the gallery before was there now. Picking up the pace, she practically ran down the stairs, not even bothering to glance back at the Forgotten Portrait, and looked around. But like the other level, no one who had been in here before was here now.

She really did not like this at all. She went to the door, and tugged on it, unsurprised that she found it locked from the outside.

This was starting to turn into a bad horror film. And Ib did not want to be the first to die.

She pulled back the slide, chambering a bullet. She kept it pointed at the ground, though, as she turned to move through the lower level of the gallery. There was not a single person around.

Displayed on the ground and surrounded by velvet ropes was what was unarguably Guertena's most famous piece, Abyss of the Deep. It was iconic, and any art student worth their paintbrush could recognize it. But Ib wasn't focusing on that right now. There was an area that had no rope, and what looked like footprints in paint lead up to it. As if someone had walked into the painting.

The feeling of deja-vu returned, and Ib stared at the painting, and noticed that the surface seemed to be rippling.

"Do I really want to go somewhere where I could possibly be killed?" She mumbled. Then sighed. "Do I really have a choice? It's possible my parents are down there..." Closing her eyes briefly, Ib rubbed her face, and nodded stiffly. Opening her eyes, she walked up to the painting, and took the first step out of her own world and into one she did not remember.

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So I'm trying out Ib. I might just stop the story here, I dunno. Anyway, I thought, "Well, what if Ib subconsciously remembered the horror she went through, thus consciously she made a decision to make herself tougher. She might not know why she pressured her parents into letting her get martial arts lessons, or a gun, she just knows she may need them." And voila, this came out.

Lionna

PS: Do you know how hard it was to find Guertena's first name?!


End file.
